The Courtesan

The idea of her stripping him down, laying hands on his naked skin, even for the prosaic purpose of cleansing it, sent a ripple of arousal through him. After spending several days in an enfeebled state, he thanked his body for this hard evidence that he was finally on the mend.

“Watson, you have the shaving utensils ready?” Belle interrupted his wandering thoughts.

“Aye, Lady Belle.” While Belle helped Jack to a sip of water, the butler brought in water, soap and razor.

While Watson shaved him, Belle recounted the doctor’s findings and informed him that both Darnley and Ludlowe had called to check on him and would return in the afternoon.

After Watson finished, a boy trotted in carrying a covered dish. “Mornin’, Miss Belle, Cap’n,” he said, fixing a curious and entirely undeferential gaze on Jack.

Scrawny and obviously undernourished, the child had hair that stuck up at odd angles, as if barbered by a blind man. With his narrow face, sharp nose and small, gleaming eyes that reminded Jack of a rodent, the child was one of the ugliest specimens of boyhood Jack had ever beheld. Where, Jack wondered, had this little street rat come from?

“Thank you for bringing up the tray so quickly, Jem. You may return to assist Watson—in the kitchen.”

The boy groaned. “Be I still in the kitchen?”

“For another week, Jem.”

“But Miss Belle—”

“No arguing, Jem,” Belle cut him off.

If the child weren’t too old—and far too unattractive—to make such a relationship possible, Jack could almost suspect the boy was Belle’s son rather than her servant. Though from what he’d seen, while Lady Belle’s house was similar to those of London’s ton, the appearance of her staff and the familiarity of their behavior was decidedly not.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Cap’n,” the boy said. His face mournful, he walked with dragging steps toward the door.

On impulse Jack called out, “Wait, Jem.” To Lady Belle’s sharp look, he said blandly, “If the boy isn’t needed now, perhaps he can keep me company while I eat.”

The lad hastened back, his thin, homely face turned toward Belle. “Couldn’t I, Miss Belle? I be very good company when I wants to.”

Belle bent her penetrating regard on the boy for a long moment before sighing. “I have some work that really needs attention. I suppose you can remain, if the captain will allow you to assist him with his breakfast.”

“I won’t hurt him none, ma’am! And I’ll get his gruel into him faster’n a fly lighting on a sticky bun.”

“Is that arrangement agreeable to you, Captain?”

Jack would much prefer Belle’s to be the hands that assisted him, but since so far he’d learned little about Belle from the lady herself, maybe he could discover more from the boy—especially if Belle were not present. “If it will not inconvenience the household, ma’am.”

She lifted an eyebrow at that and turned to the boy. “Don’t tease him with too much chatter, Jem. He should rest and converse as little as possible.”

Jack watched her graceful glide of a walk as she exited. Meanwhile Jem removed the cover from the tray, unveiling a pot that wafted the siren scent of fresh coffee and a surprisingly appealing bowl of gruel.

“Don’t you stir them nabsters, Cap’n,” Jem advised as Jack tried to lift a hand to reach the spoon. “Jem’ll feed you right and proper.”

Surmising that Jem meant he was good with his hands, Jack subsided back against the pillows. He’d best hope the boy didn’t spill his breakfast all over him, since his own feeble attempt to feed himself had failed dismally. Silently cursing his recurrent weakness and the pain that skewered him every time he moved, Jack said, “I’d be much obliged for your help, Jem.”

“Don’t wonder you need it, Lady Belle sticking you like she done. Watson says your togs was soaked right through in blood. Here’s your broth, now.”

For a few minutes Jack contented himself with slurping down all the soup that Jem spooned in as handily as promised. His immediate hunger subsiding, Jack decided to see what information he could eke from the boy.

Before his stint in the army, where men from all ranks and walks of life were obligated to work together, Jack might have felt awkward, attempting to converse with a servant. Having long since mastered any such discomfort—and certainly the erstwhile servant seemed to feel none, Jack said, “You don’t like working in the kitchen, Jem?”

“It ain’t my usual lay, helping old Watson. I’d rather be back at the mews, learning to tend the bits of blood and hoof and swabbing the tinkle and jangle.”

“You prefer working with horses and tack?” Jack guessed.

Jem paused for a minute and gave Jack a gap-toothed grin. “You be right smart, for a toff.”

Jack felt the urge to chuckle and, mindful of his chest, restrained it. “I am moved by your accolade.”

“Watson says you was in the cavalry. Did you have a bloody great horse? Did you slash the Frogs to bits with your sword?”

Jack’s smile turned grim as he suppressed the memories. “Yes, I had a fine, big horse. I’d rather not talk about the slashing, if you please. How did you—”

“But that be the best part!” Jem interrupted, clearly disappointed. “Here’s your last sip, anyways.”

As Jem spoke, Lady Belle entered. Though she moved silently, the almost palpable change in the air telegraphed her presence to him instantly, even before Jack caught her faint scent of lavender.